


something new

by civillove



Series: seblaine week 2k20 [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: seblaine week 2020 - college. Aka: model!Sebastian and art student!blaine--Here’s the thing about college, Blaine knew that he always wanted to go…it’s just that he didn’t know what he wanted to do once he was there. As long as he can remember, he’s always been covered in paint one way or another. Even if Cooper never really considered those finger paintings when they were kids works of art, he knows he’s always had a predilection to paintbrushes, watercolor, different kinds of paints and creating something out of nothing.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe
Series: seblaine week 2k20 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827478
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65
Collections: Seblaine Week 2020





	something new

Here’s the thing about college, Blaine knew that he always wanted to go…it’s just that he didn’t know what he wanted to _do_ once he was there. As long as he can remember, he’s always been covered in paint one way or another. Even if Cooper never really considered those finger paintings when they were kids _works of art,_ he knows he’s always had a predilection to paintbrushes, watercolor, different kinds of paints and creating something out of nothing.

He loves blank canvases; when he was younger, he used to force Cooper and his parents to pose as still-lifes, trying to capture the shape of their bodies, the soft and hard lines, the way shadows moved just right. His aunt, who’s a ceramic teacher, took him under her wing and taught him how to make art yield. He still remembers the first time he felt oil pastels between his fingertips, the glide of scarlet red against his skin, using excess color to blend and create depth.

Charcoal, graphite, pen and ink—they weren’t his favorites, they didn’t feel like they had enough expression in his hands. He loves the boldness of color, the swipe of a brush against canvas stitching and the textures he can create with paintbrushes and his fingers.

 _You have to be willing to try everything,_ his aunt told him and it’s something he still lives by. If he doesn’t try, if he doesn’t fail, then his successes don’t feel as important. His senior art teacher told him he had potential, that he was a natural with owning space and using his hands to create beautiful portraits that didn’t always need still-lifes.

Blaine’s not at one of the most prestigious art schools in New York, but he really enjoys the Pratt Institute and he’s always had the softest spot for Brooklyn. So he tries everything new; he moves there with a scholarship and four thousand dollars saved in his bank account from past birthdays, long shifts at the Lima Bean and gifts from his family.

Most of his stuff overlaps and stacks up in his shoebox apartment but there’s something about the charm of New York that creates excitement, looking forward with an openness for whatever might be in store for him. Sure, he trips over the same box near his closet door every time he gets ready in the morning…but he hasn’t completely toppled over into his nightstand from it, so he considers it a win.

Blaine knows his life isn’t exactly glamorous, he knows that he always pictured living his life a little differently than how he is now when he considered moving to New York. And no, he hasn’t…managed to get MoMa to return any of his calls, but the point is, he can work towards it. He can volunteer at smaller galleries, put the grunt work in, keep developing his craft. And yeah, maybe he’s not quite sure what his ten or even five-year plan is yet but small steps feel better than leaping.

He works at a local art shop and café for cash and he takes his classes at Pratt very seriously, his first year filled with intro sessions where he feels pretty confident. It’s mostly art history, a focus on painting, charcoal practice and ceramics…but there is this _one_ session that he doesn’t know what to make of yet.

It’s real-life sketching and he knows his aunt always wanted him to try new things but he’s pretty sure she didn’t mean trying to figure out what to draw when he has a gorgeous nude model in front of him.

Blaine stares at his blank canvas, suddenly unsure of how to make his fingers work. He has paint, which is nice, the professor is letting them pick which kind of medium they want to work with so he doesn’t have to stumble around with pencils or charcoal. But he feels like this is the longest instance where he’s burning a hole through this white canvas with his eyes because he doesn’t know where to start.

It’s not that he hasn’t drawn nude models before, he has, remembers taking some college classes during the summer after his senior year just to harness some of his skills—but for some reason it feels _nothing_ like this.

The person that he’s supposed to be drawing is laid out on a table with a green cloth underneath him, which brings out the color of his eyes—forest green, or moss covering stones near a river. He’s long and lanky but not in a way that’s displeasing, he has toned muscle and soft skin and there’s too many beauty spots to count and—

…that’s really not what he should be focusing on.

He clears his throat and distracts himself by mixing paint, hoping that no one else is paying attention to his special crisis, or worse, that the professor doesn’t wander over to ask him if something is wrong.

 _This is not the first time you’ve done this and this is_ not _the first time you’ve seen a beautiful, naked guy; get your shit together._

It’s as if Sebastian, right…that’s how he introduced himself, can hear him because he can suddenly feel his gaze as he looks up from swirling paint together on his palette. There’s a gentle smirk tilting his lips, his eyes roaming over Blaine’s profile because his hands can’t do it and—this is utterly ridiculous, how is he supposed to concentrate and produce something on his canvas when he’s doing things like that?

Shouldn’t Blaine be the one appraising? Shouldn’t Sebastian be the one uncomfortable with all those eyes on him? Instead it’s like he’s flourishing under the constant attention, flowers preening towards the sun.

He shakes his head and starts in on his canvas with predominantly warm colors, only using blues and violets for shading. He glances over at the framework of Sebastian’s body a few times and commits his lines and shades of his skin to memory so he doesn’t have to look at him more than necessary.

The professor claps her hands suddenly, signaling the end of the class with one announcement that their project decisions for a series of still-lifes must be made by the end of the week. While Sebastian pulls a robe on to cover himself, Blaine tries to gather his paints and brushes and hide his canvas as quickly as possible so he can get the hell out of there.

None such luck.

He can feel Sebastian come up behind him, peeking around the easel to see what he’s been working on for the better part of an hour (or well, more like half n hour because he couldn’t get his brain to jump start).

Blaine chews on his lower lip, putting the brushes that he’s used in a cup of water to take over to the sink—but something on Sebastian’s face captures his attention. It’s not exactly disapproving but it’s definitely not the look he thought he’d be wearing; he’s more amused, a bit of confusion wrapping around surprise.

“So let me get this straight,” Sebastian turns a little to look at him, playing with the robe knot he has tied around his waist. “Out of anything you could have drawn from my _very_ naked body…you chose my hands?”

He bites down on his lower lip, looking at the rendition of Sebastian’s forearms and detail work of his hands on his canvas. It’s not true to size, filling up the canvas with smudged shadows and saturated line work—a textured dedication to shape and expression. He can almost sense what Sebastian’s hands might feel like by looking at his work.

“Well…” He trails off a moment, “And your forearms.” A soft laugh leaves Sebastian’s lips as Blaine walks over to the sink to rinse out his brushes, “You’ve got nice hands.” He amends, trying to make this situation any less awkward. It’s not like he’s trying to insult the rest of his body by _just_ focusing on his hands.

“I know,” Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest and he can feel his gaze draw down the length of his back as he watches him clean his brushes and walk back over to his easel. “I’m just surprised with what you chose. Not many artists focus on my hands; they either do my whole body or…” He purposely licks his lips and Blaine concentrates on packing up his things. “My lower half. I’ve seen a lot of bad cock drawings.”

Blaine’s hands jerk, seemingly having a mind of their own as he knocks his palette onto the floor. The taller smirks; obviously throwing him off balance was his intention and he reaches down to pick it up for him.

“It’s all about practice,” Blaine says after a moment, taking the palette to put onto a nearby table. God he’s gotta go, he’s just rambling now to fill the silence, “You know, still-lifes aren’t always easy for every artist.”

“I was just worried people would get the wrong impression about my dick.” Sebastian says, as if he’s talking about the weather and Blaine can literally _feel_ a patchwork of blush work up the back of his neck and settle onto his cheekbones.

“I’m sure your reputation is safe.” He says, picking up his bag and jacket, hazel eyes meeting green as he starts to make his way towards the door.

“Just let me know if you’re interested at all in keeping my reputation where it is,” He smiles a little and picks up his name from the scribble in the corner of his canvas, “Blaine, right?”

Blaine pauses on his way out of the studio, turning to look at him with a small nod. “Yeah, Blaine. That’s…yeah, that’s me.” He’s about ready to swallow his tongue.

Sebastian nods towards his canvas, “Thanks for surprising me with something interesting. Not many people do that.”

He clears his throat, not quite sure how he’s managed to do that with a detailed painting of his forearms and hands but he nods anyways. He turns on his heel and walks out before he does anything more to embarrass himself.

\--

The bar life is loud and suffocating but sometimes, Blaine enjoys it like this. A hole in the wall place in Brooklyn with lively stage music and college specials where he can drink without burning right through his wallet. He’s here with a table full of friends but is mostly sticking to himself, passing back and forth between the dance floor and the bar to make sure he’s staying hydrated.

A few guys have bought him drinks, which he gladly accepts but tries not to give them the wrong idea because he’s not in the mood to dance against them or give him his phone number. Cooper always told him that he’s got this way about him, this aura that attracts other people, pulls them in. He wasn’t necessarily talking about guys hitting on him but just in general; people enjoy talking to him and listening to what he has to say. He’s used that on more than one occasion to get into a certain class, to nail a job interview, to make friends—things that come a little easier with just the right smile, just the right set of words.

In high school, he used to joke with Cooper that ‘sometimes things just got handed to him’ but apparently he hadn’t run into the wall that _is_ New York yet. He wishes his charm would get him through the door at MoMa…but he knows it’s going to take so much more than a winning personality.

Speaking of interesting personalities, for one reason or another, he’s thinking about Sebastian.

That fucking model from his sketching class. Sebastian has the same kind of attraction, that same silver tongue that whirlpools you in until you’re stuck under the compulsion. He’s only met Sebastian _once_ for two hours and understands that about him, one extrovert soul recognizing another.

And Blaine must be a little more than a tiny bit drunk if he’s thinking about Sebastian when he’s out on this dance floor, taking shots, sweating a little against the collar of the black shirt he has on. He pushes through the crowd to the bar, running a hand through messy, loose curls and leans against the wooden counter.

He knows the bar is packed and the bartender looks a little frazzled as she tries to balance taking orders and making them, so he doesn’t try and flag her down at first, snagging a cocktail napkin instead to pat the sweat off his forehead.

“It’s barely ten and you’re working up a sweat?”

God, he knows that voice and he almost doesn’t turn around. Maybe he’s imagined it. Blaine lets out a slow breath and turns, face to face with those familiar green eyes. It’s ironic almost, that he’s seen him completely naked and yet he looks _just as good_ with clothes on. A pair of black jeans that sit low on his hips and a maroon Henley that hugs the curves of his muscles.

Utterly ridiculous and unfair.

“I like to use my time wisely.”

Sebastian smiles and takes a step closer, standing on the other side of him at the bar. “I admire a work ethic. Can I buy you a drink?”

He sighs and considers him a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. He supposes if he’s letting strangers buy him things, a drink from Sebastian wouldn’t be so bad. There’s something bubbling under his skin, a thrill working from his stomach up into his chest. It has everything to do with the humidity in the bar, the buzz he’s already in, the sheen of sweat sticking to his skin—Sebastian _looks_ good and he keeps catching whiffs of his cologne, cedar mixed with something fresh.

 _Why not?_ whispers in the back of his mind.

Blaine nods softly, “Sure, but I’m not a cheap date.”

A soft laugh slips out of the taller’s mouth, leaning on the bar and waving the bartender down. “Order whatever you want.”

And he does.

\--

They end back up at Sebastian’s apartment because he doesn’t live very far from the bar. It only takes Blaine a minimum amount of observation to recognize that the sketching model must come from money because his place is _nice._ It’s not incredibly big or on the sixtieth floor or anything but he’s pretty sure he could fit his apartment into this one three times comfortably. It’s on the ground floor with big windows facing the street and one of his walls is stacked with books, mostly art history and law from what Blaine can tell as he drags his fingers over them.

It’s tidy too, his eyes trailing over emerald colored carpeting and natural wood finishes, walls covered with French posters and portraits of impressionism; Blaine hums under his breath—he never thought Sebastian was the type. The only thing a little cluttered is his variety of art supplies around the space; easels, tubes of paint, lamps for still-lifes, work that looks half completed and rolled up canvases.

At least he’s not actively tripping over everything like he would be doing in his own apartment, somehow in the claustrophobic space his stuff gets _everywhere._

Sebastian trails a hand up his naked back, making sure his thumb traces a circle into each of the knobs of his spine. Blaine sighs, allowing his eyes to flutter closed at the sensation before turning to look at him. The taller smirks, licking his lips before he leans in to kiss him.

This is not how he thought how his night would end up.

_“Want a bottle of wine?” Sebastian asks as he closes his apartment door with his foot._

_Blaine shakes his head; he doesn’t want to drink anymore. His heartrate pounds in his ears as he leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Sebastian’s lips._

_The taller looks amused, definitely not stunned—Blaine distantly wonders if anyone’s ever been capable of actually taking Sebastian by surprise. He takes a step forward and crowds Blaine’s space, pressing him back against the door._

_Their lips join and hands wander, quickly removing clothes as Sebastian guides him to his bed._

“It’s kinda weird that you don’t have a bedframe.” Blaine says softly, shifting against the mattress.

He shrugs his shoulder, “Can you really tell the difference? The box spring is still there…we’re just a lot lower to the ground.”

“How many times have you misjudged that?” Blaine teases and Sebastian attempts to cover him with a blanket so he doesn’t have to look at him, the shorter chuckling and wrestling out of the sheets.

“I’m not telling you that.” Sebastian sits up a little, moving to position pillows against the wall so he can lean against it. “What else do you want to know?”

Blaine leans up on his elbows, considering the invitation for a moment. It sounds like something honest, like Sebastian might answer questions being asked—they don’t know anything about one another. He lets out a slow breath, running a hand through his curls; not his smartest decision to end up in someone’s bed that he barely knows but…

He supposes there are worse things.

“What are you doing at Pratt?”

Sebastian bites down on his lower lip, “I don’t actually go to school there. I just take some extra classes. My father…” He trails off for a moment, turning to look at Blaine before twirling his fingers through a random curl. “He sent me to law school. More profitable.”

Blaine turns a little into the touch and presses a kiss to the other’s wrist. “He’s not wrong.” He then notices the expression on Sebastian’s face, even though it’s gone almost as soon as it appears. “But you’d rather do something creative.”

He shrugs his shoulder, “I enjoy art, I enjoy how it makes people feel—there’s no other medium quite like it.”

“I get that,” Blaine says instantly, because he does. “What kind of art do you like the best?”

Sebastian smirks a little, eyes trailing over the long line of Blaine’s back. “Thought that was obvious.”

A soft blush heats his cheeks and he playfully shoves him, “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” He sighs and scrubs his fingers through his hair before he considers the question for a moment. “Paint, I guess. Even though I’m not very good at it.”

Blaine traces a few shapes on the pillow in front of him before he sits up, moving to pull his briefs on. He remembers seeing some paint on the floor when he walked into Sebastian’s apartment and as long as they’re not oils…

“Where are you going?” Sebastian huffs, sitting up a little to lean over his knees. He watches Blaine move around his space, picking up shades of blue, purple and sea green paints before he finds two paintbrushes. “Now? You feel inspired to paint _now?”_

Blaine smirks at him over his shoulder. “Something like that.” He hops back onto the bed and puts everything down on the nightstand. “Turn over, lie on your stomach.”

Sebastian’s mouth opens slightly before he figures out what track Blaine is on, “No, no thanks.” He shakes his head, pushing his hand away when he tries to encourage him to roll.

“Oh come on, I’m not going to hurt you.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Sebastian’s nose, “I won’t get your sheets dirty.”

He sighs, nuzzling their noses together as he steals a kiss, “Think it might be too late for that.” Pausing a moment, he cups Blaine’s cheek, running his thumb over his cheekbone, “Does anyone ever say no to you?”

“Not usually.” He smiles against his lips, pressing one more kiss against the corner of Sebastian’s mouth for good measure.

He rolls his eyes but turns over, lying down against the mattress. He moves his arms to pillow his head and Blaine adjusts the sheets before he straddles the back of Sebastian’s thighs. The taller makes a noise of protest but then turns his head a little to look over his shoulder.

“You know, I don’t exactly hate that position for you.”

Blaine smirks, “Shush.” And grabs the paints to get to work.

He creates something simple from memory, a landscape that reminds him of the impressionism that Sebastian has on his walls. It’s a field that he used to go to with his grandparents, by a long-sweeping river, an extensive stretch of yarrow flowers as bright as fireflies sticking out in his mind as he moves the paintbrush.

It’s quick work, some of the texture created with his fingers and Sebastian most definitely jerks underneath his touch.

Blaine smirks a little, “Are you ticklish?”

“You’re literally poking at my sides with your hands, Anderson.” He sounds relaxed though, his voice having a slight sleepy quality as he finishes up the scene. Blaine moves to wash his hands and then grabs his phone to snap a picture, smiling as he sinks next to Sebastian on the floor,

“What do you think?”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, taking the cell into his hand as his eyes flutter over the work. He sits up slowly on his elbows, gaze flickering to Blaine with a soft smile that reaches deep into his stomach and _squeezes._

“You’re really something, you know that?”

Blaine bites down on his lower lip, shaking his head as he kneels next to the bed. “It’s just something to do for fun. Now _you’re_ a piece of art too.”

Sebastian hums and leans forward to capture Blaine’s lips in a slow kiss. When they finally pull back, he moves to get out of bed, walking towards his bathroom to turn the shower on. He motions his head for Blaine to join him, and he does, bringing the paintbrushes with him to clean them in the sink.

He can feel the taller’s eyes on him, brushing over his form with an intimate gaze that reminds him of the first time they met. “What?” He asks after a moment, putting the paintbrushes down on the sink once they’re clean.

Shrugging his one shoulder, Sebastian turns to feel the temperature of the shower. “I was just thinking…you never wanted to be a model for an art class? Seems like such a waste for only me to see that body of yours.”

Blaine laughs suddenly because _no,_ honestly like…really, no. “Are you…are you serious? No.”

Sebastian smirks and turns to get into the shower, pulling Blaine in with him despite the fact that he still has his briefs on. “Just a suggestion to try something new.” He grins and kisses him.

The water runs lavender, sea foam green and cobalt blue at their ankles.

\--

His heart feels like it’s in his throat as he steps out into the sketching room with a blue robe on and he holds the lapels closed against his sternum because it adds another layer of comfort that’s about to be removed. Blaine lets out a slow breath, the professor motioning to a chair for him that he’s going to sit in, students getting ready on the outskirts of the room by stretching canvases and preparing art supplies.

She tells Blaine that it’ll be an hour and that he can use any of the props next to the chair if he wants to—which includes a flower crown, a mug and a small mirror. The most important thing to remember is to pick a comfortable position and to let her know if he needs a break at any time.

He nods softly and sits down on the chair, his fingers shaking as he looks down at the items he can choose from. Any of those could work but part of him doesn’t want to use a prop, he wants people to _look_ at him, to follow the long lines of his body and pay attention to the shadows that his muscles and bones create—using a prop will distract from that.

He already feels someone’s eyes on him and when he looks up, Sebastian is leaning against the doorframe of the sketching room, a small smile on the corner of his mouth. His eyes look surprised, not amused or puzzled, but _surprised—_ something genuine sparkling underneath the moss green.

He wanders over to him, sticking his hands in his pockets. “What are you doing?”

Blaine smiles slowly at Sebastian, leaning back in his chair. “Isn’t it obvious? Something new.”

And when the professor gives the signal, he removes his robe.


End file.
